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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372415">Like The Tide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/untilthepainstarts/pseuds/untilthepainstarts'>untilthepainstarts</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Beating, Blood, Dissociation, Gags, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Rape, Slurs, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:34:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/untilthepainstarts/pseuds/untilthepainstarts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They liked it like that. Liked that he was vulnerable. Liked to see him tied down, spread open. After all, they'd bought the time—a cute boy, and some tools.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Like The Tide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first is tall and muscular, and smells of a woody cologne.</p>
<p>Lev isn't blindfolded, not this time, though he doubts it's for his own benefit—much more plausible is that the man just wanted to see his eyes while he fucked him. He's gagged, because <em>your screams sound so damn good like this, baby. </em>The sheets are silky soft against his back, and it's the kind of luxury he's come to expect, on nights like these. The kind that doesn't really do much, save to hurt him further.</p>
<p>Because it's not for him. Not really. It's for whomever he's been rented out to—just like the flimsy cotton he's been dressed in, it's not for him, it's for the first man to rip apart to get to the skin underneath. It's making the treat harder to get at. It's enrichment.</p>
<p>But the first is tall and muscular, and doesn't talk, and that's something, at least. He's far from gentle, tugs him too far from the headboard when pulling him onto his cock, and Lev cries out, his wrists digging painfully into the wood where they're secured.</p>
<p>They liked it like that. Liked that he was vulnerable. Liked to see him tied down, spread open. After all, they'd bought the time—a cute boy, and some tools. A body to break for a few hours, while he alternates between watching from afar, and up very, very close. When he's brought in close enough, he can feel the begging his body is doing, read the words his eyes are trying to convey.</p>
<p>
  <em>Please hold me. Please touch me. Please come close enough that I can't see your face.</em>
</p>
<p>The man smells of woodsmoke, and he cums across Lev's thighs and stomach. Leaves him on the bed with his shirt ripped open. Shivering, as the man's body heat leaves him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second is forceful and smarmy. His eyes are so light a brown they're almost yellow.</p>
<p>Lev swears his wrists are bleeding. With every thrust, he swears his blood is being rubbed against the frame of the bed, and the gag between his teeth is already wet with his saliva, but the man seems like he wants to add his own. When Lev cringes and turns his head away, his chin is gripped tightly and forced back into place.</p>
<p>“Viklund-Reid said you were an obedient little slut.” His grin is pointy and vicious, and the fingers slip from his face, to his neck, to his chest, to his hip, and the man groans. “You do look the part. Bet you're loving this, huh? Fucking collared little whore.”</p>
<p><em>He wouldn't call me that, </em>Lev thinks, and doesn't know where the certainty of the thought had come from. Wonders, when he'd started knowing the limits of his captor's cruelty. The man smacks the outside of Lev's thigh, hard, and he can't stop the startled noise that he makes through the gag.</p>
<p>The fact that he was here against his will was often thrill enough for them—but this one, unlike the last, seems to want to make it sting. Mutters words that bite and nip, while his cock sinks deeper and deeper inside, and they'd have hurt more if Lev wasn't as used to the mental violence as he was the physical.</p>
<p>“You're so fucking tight. Fuck <em>yes.</em> Take it.”</p>
<p>He was good, and obedient, and pliable, and he just wanted this to end. Wanted to go back to the familiarity of his primary captor, and the smell of aftershave, and blue eyes, not yellow.</p>
<p>
  <em>Please leave me alone. Please let me die. Please finish. </em>
</p>
<p>But at least the man's hair is long and soft-looking, and his hands, though rough and insistent, are heavenly warm. Lev goes to the place inside his mind where waters are still, and he can hear the sound of skin slapping on skin just barely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The third is a blur that he doesn't register.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The fourth only reaches him when he starts to paint his insides, and Lev is rocked back to awareness by the sheer force of the man's climax. He cries out in alarm, as if anything had changed, and he wasn't still tied up on the bed with a man on top of him. His struggles are met with false-sweetness, a shushing in his ear and a hand over his mouth.</p>
<p>Through the numbness, tears slip free. He's startled, and shaking, and it may not even be the fourth whose cock is softening inside of him right now, but to him, it has to be. The shredded remainders of his clothing have been removed, at some point, and somehow he feels colder.</p>
<p><em>No more</em>, feeling the ropes of semen cooling on his stomach, his chest. <em>No more, no more, no more.</em></p>
<p>The aches rush back to him, and he starts to sob.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the fifth he's wrecked, but the fifth comes nonetheless, and the fifth is vicious. This one beats him, before he gets started—a fist slams his stomach, ripping his breath from his body, and between gaping half-breaths Lev distantly thinks he would have given the oxygen in his lungs to the man, whoever he was, if he'd asked. He didn't need it. Wasn't using it.</p>
<p>Lev smells salt, but he can't be sure whether it's the man's sweat, huffing as he is from the effort of hitting him, or his own blood. He fucks him fast, and doesn't even look at him, not really. Doesn't look into his eyes, eyes that have resumed their endless litany using the last of his strength.</p>
<p>
  <em>Please don't stop. Please don't stop. Please kill me.</em>
</p>
<p>He still cants his hips weakly into the fist that curls itself around his cock. There's no point in fighting it. Not when he's <em>made for this, sweet thing. Good boy.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mercifully, the fifth is last. Martin unties him, and cleans him. Massages his aching wrists. Gently carries him to the bathroom. Washes blood, and sweat, and cum from his hair. Peppers him with kisses.</p>
<p>“Whose are you, darling?”</p>
<p>The way Lev leans into the touch of his captor is learned, just as learned as the way his mind comes and goes like the tide.</p>
<p>“I'm yours.”</p>
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